


Cabin in the Woods

by fredbassett



Category: Primeval
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-13 07:26:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1217599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fredbassett/pseuds/fredbassett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Becker is injured and being taken to hospital, but nothing is quite that straightforward in his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cabin in the Woods

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eriah211](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=eriah211).



“Come on, sunshine, not much further now.”

“That’s what you’ve been saying for the last half hour, Quinn.” 

Becker did his best to put his weight on his injured leg, but all that happened was a red-hot spike of pain shot up his nerves leaving him gasping for breath.

“There was a break in the cloud a few minutes ago and I could see the hut,” Danny said, obviously trying to reassure him.

It might be true, but Becker wasn’t convinced. It was more likely that Danny was just trying to keep his morale up as they made their way through deep snow in the middle of a track in a forest somewhere in the Lake District.

Heavy snow and high winds were a bad combination, made worse when a tree brought down a power line, forcing their vehicle off the road and into a deep ditch that even a Range Rover wasn’t going to get out of without mechanical assistance. And it was doubly unfortunate that it had happened when Danny had been in the process of driving Becker to Kendal hospital to have his ankle dealt with. A blow from the clubbed tail of some sort of ankylosaur had very successfully smashed flesh and probably bone as well. 

The rest of the team had stayed with the anomaly, keeping a cold vigil in their vehicles while Danny had undertaken to get Becker to hospital, whether he wanted he go or not. In truth, probably only Danny had the advanced driving skills to cope with the snow-covered roads, but even he had been barely able to wrest the wheel over to avoid the tangle of tree and electricity pole that had crashed down in front of them.

And Becker had been reluctant to go, despite the pain in his ankle. He hated leaving a job half-finished. After the Range Rover had ended up in the ditch – in the middle of the vast mobile phone black spot otherwise known as Cumbria – they’d had little option other than to try to make their way on foot to find some kind of shelter. Danny had claimed to remember passing a log cabin in the trees when they’d been hunting for the anomaly that morning, although Becker had doubted the wisdom of leaving the road for what looked little more than a logging track, based on no more than one of Danny’s famous hunches. 

Infamous hunches more like, Becker thought sourly, as Danny hauled his arm up and took as much of his weight as possible as they lurched on like drunken competitors in a three-legged race.

Snow swirled around them in big, fat, wet flakes that stuck to his already-soaked clothing and made seeing any distance ahead practically impossible. The thick grey clouds that had been shedding their load on Cumbria for much of the day blocked out much of the light, and anyway, that was fading fast. Much like Becker.

He stifled a groan as more spikes of pain lanced up his leg.

“Come on, cupcake, you can manage it. Just one more hop for your uncle Danny…”

“Fuck. Off.”

“You can do better than that,” Danny chided.

“Fuck. Off. Quinn. And don’t call me cupcake,” he added, more for form’s sake that anything else.

“That’s better, I was starting to worry about you.”

* * * * *

Danny hadn’t been lying when he’d said to Becker that he was starting to worry. He’d been pretty certain of the track, but then again the buggering things had a nasty tendency to all look alike. When you’d seen one sodding conifer, you’d very definitely seen them all. The only difference was that some were still vertical, but others, like the one that had come crashing down just in front of their car, were horizontal, which – out of the context of a sawmill or a wooden hut – was not a good position.

As a result, when he finally saw the dark exterior of a hut through the wall of white that had been impeding their progress he couldn’t suppress a little whoop of triumph.

“Nice one, Quinn,” Becker said through gritted teeth.

Kicking in doors was an art form, and it was one that Danny had had ample time to perfect in his time in the Met. He preferred to use one of the bright red metal battering rams called Enforcers, that the Tactical Support Group routinely carried, but if push came to shove, which it looked like it was about to, he could still fall back on the old ways.

It took three hefty kicks before the frame finally succumbed to his tender ministrations and splintered, allowing the door to spring inwards. The interior of the log cabin was as dark as a cave, but they had head torches, and their beams successfully penetrated the gloom. As far as Danny could see, the cabin was no more than one big room, with a pot-bellied wood-burning stove on one side, and a sofa in front of it, flanked by two armchairs. On the other side was a double bed covered by a brightly-coloured patchwork quilt. The kitchen was at the back of the room and a small bathroom and toilet had been tacked on in a lean-to on one side.

Danny settled Becker on the sofa, and it was no doubt a measure of the pain the captain was in that he didn’t argue when Danny draped the bedspread over him and tucked it in.

“You stay there, cupcake. I’m going to see if there’s any dry fuel for that stove.”

Fortunately, there was, and in a matter of minutes, Danny had managed to lay a fire in the stove and set light to it. Flames leaped up and soon took hold of the pile of dry kindling and split logs. The cooker ran off bottled gas, as did the lights, but not knowing how much gas was in the bottle, Danny found a box of candles for lighting and decided to use the cooker just for heating water. The cupboards were reasonably well-stocked and he was able to produce a mug of steaming tea, whitened with powdered milk, laden with sugar and pepped up with a heavy dose of cooking brandy.

“Get out of your wet stuff and get that down you,” he said, putting the tea down on a coffee table and going down on his knees on the rug in front of the fire.

“You’re not going to propose are you, Quinn?”

Danny grinned. “In your dreams, sweetheart. I could never play second fiddle to Ms Mossberg.” 

Despite Becker’s protests, Danny undid the laces on Becker’s boots, taking the one off the soldier’s uninjured foot first, and then turning to the one that the ankylosaur had smashed. Becker failed to stifle a yelp as Danny prised off the boot as gently as he could and then pealed the thick sock down.

He sat back on his heels, carefully keeping his expression neutral until he could assess the damage. Becker’s ankle was already black and blue but it looked like his sturdy army boot had taken a lot of the impact. He ran his fingernail up the ball of Becker’s big toe.

“Can you feel that?”

“Yes, it bloody tickles!”

After repeating the same exercise on each of Becker’s toes, he looked up, grinning widely. “No idea what that tells us,” he said cheerfully. “But it’s probably healthier than not being able to feel them. I’m going to strap it up and get your sock back on. Other than that, I don’t think there’s a lot I can do apart from forcing some painkillers down you and soothing your fevered brow.”

“Just get on with it,” Becker growled. He took a mouthful of the tea, which obviously met with approval as he drank it quickly, probably hoping Danny wouldn’t notice the fact that his hands were shaking slightly. 

Crepe bandages from the emergency medical packs they all carried were all Danny had to hand, but with them he managed to get Becker’s ankle strapped up to hopefully minimise accidental movement in case there were any broken bones. Two painkillers were swallowed without complaint, paving the way for Danny to help get Becker stripped down to his boxers and socks, the only things that were remotely dry. But with the heat the stove was starting to throw out into the room, it wouldn’t be long before their stuff was wearable again.

Sporting a very inconvenient hard-on from the sight of Becker’s dark chest hair that led in a very enticing trail down to the waistband of his grey boxers, Danny busied himself in the kitchen, making another round of drinks.

“Get your wet kit off, Quinn,” Becker said, a note of command creeping back into his voice.

Not until his cock had learned to play nicely, Danny thought grimly. It was all very well carrying a secret torch for one of his teammates, but this was hardly the time or the place to make a move.

When he was guaranteed not to embarrass himself, Danny stripped down to his boxers as ordered, and arranged their clothing on the backs of some chairs around the sides of the stove. He was relieved that Becker had clearly warmed up enough to make a rude remark about his Yogi Bear underwear, courtesy of Abby in the Secret Santa, along with a pair of Officer Dibble socks.

“You’re just jealous, now shift up and stop hogging that quilt.”

The painkillers had obviously started to work. Becker shuffled over slightly and let Danny get underneath the voluminous bedspread. The room was warming up nicely. But Danny still felt a bit of a tit wandering around in nothing but keks and socks.

The good thing was that he’d managed to find sheets and blankets for the bed, plus a couple of hot water bottles that were now hopefully getting it nice and warm. The double bed.

Danny felt his cheeks starting to glow with embarrassment as his cock gave a hopeful twitch. Sure, he’d been caught out in the middle of an adrenaline-fueled wank in the showers after a dodgy shout, who hadn’t? But getting a boner when he was sitting next to the object of his adolescent lust was another thing entirely. He did his best not to squirm.

Next to him, Becker gave a small snort of amusement. “Christ on a crutch, Danny boy, you don’t know the meaning of the word subtlety, do you?”

Danny stared at Becker in the soft candlelight, not quite knowing how to construe that remark.

A moment later, he let out a yelp of surprise as Becker’s cold hand settled on his dick, through the thin material of his boxers. “Now who’s being subtle?” he demanded.

Becker rolled his eyes. “Subtlety wasn’t working, was it? I’ve invited you out for drinks, had you round for a curry and you still haven’t made a fucking move. Can’t we just get on with it?

A slow smile made its way across Danny’s face. He settled an arm around Becker’s shoulders. “So you’re not going to deck me is I kiss you?”

“Danny, my hand’s on your dick. If that’s not an invitation to a kiss, I don’t know what is.”

Danny closed the distance between them. Backing out at that stage really wasn’t an option, and besides, he was really, really hoping Becker would start to move his hand. As their lips pressed together in that first awkward moment before everything just slid into place, Becker started to do just that, burrowing his hand inside Danny’s boxers and sliding his gun-calloused fingers up Danny’s cock at exactly the moment he deepened the kiss and slipped his tongue into Danny’s mouth. 

Despite what was no doubt a fucking painful ankle, Becker quickly took charge of their first encounter, delivering probably the most expert hand-job Danny had ever received, quickly learning exactly how much friction he liked and where to stroke to elicit small whimpers of pleasure that Danny quickly gave up trying to suppress. In an almost embarrassingly short space of time, he felt his balls tighten and a moment later, his cock pulsed in Becker’s hand. 

With small aftershocks of pleasure chasing through his guts, Danny rested his head on Becker’s shoulder and nuzzled his cold ear. “That was fucking wonderful.” 

Becker wiped his hand on Danny’s boxers and settled comfortably against him. “I don’t suppose you’d run to a blow-job on a first date, would you?” he said hopefully.

Danny’s smile slid into a grin. “Who says it’s a first date, soldier boy?”


End file.
